


Memories Don't Lie

by Lupin807



Series: Second Guessing [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Blow Jobs, Heavy Angst, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Memory Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Porn With Plot, Roughness, Sexual Fantasy, Showers, Smut, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25420390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupin807/pseuds/Lupin807
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been driving himself insane working overtime to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. Tired, frustrated, and practically living in the Room of Requirement, he gives in to taking a small break. Some well-deserved fresh air from flying the quidditch pitch and a nice, quick shower afterwards certainly couldn't make things any more complicated.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Second Guessing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841275
Comments: 17
Kudos: 103





	Memories Don't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to you, dear reader! I've had this sitting in my to-do list for the past few weeks now, and finally got around to cleaning it up. This is the second part, or follow-up, to 'A Second Guessing' - but the stories can definitely be read separate from one another. 
> 
> Some things you might want to know about this fic (possible triggers and spoilers below):
>   
> 
> * Blaise and Draco are **still not** (and have not been) romantically involved with one another. (Sorry.)
>   
> 
> * This specifically takes place the day before Harry's detention for the Sectumsempra mishap in HBP.
>   
> 
> * Memory magic is tagged for a good reason, in case that bothers you. (Sorry again.)
>   
> (I should also probably mention that the title to this work is a lyric from a song called 'Pain Redefined' by the band Disturbed, so credit to them!)
> 
> Happy reading!

* * *

On Friday evening, the night before the final Quidditch match of the year - the very Quidditch match that just so happened to be the one that determined whether or not Gryffindor would beat Slytherin for the Cup - Harry Potter was nearly at his breaking point. 

Almost all of his fellow Gryffindors were angry with him and rightfully so; he was their team Captain and he went and got himself banned from the most important match. If he were them, he'd be angry at him too. It also didn't help that just as many Slytherins were gloating about the situation for the past few days, adding salt to the wound. And despite Ginny snapping at her, Hermione would not give up her lectures on the supposed dangers of the Prince and Harry soon found himself looking for ways to avoid her. 

He was thankful she spent so much time in the library. The common room was fairly empty; Fridays meant most students were all out enjoying their wonderful, happy lives with friends or significant others in Hogsmeade. 

Harry tried to continue concentrating on his Transfiguration essay with a scowl.

The dreaded idea of Ginny possibly returning to Dean after the match - whether from celebration or consolation - kept constantly plaguing him, repeatedly turning his stomach over. Unlike the nature of his private meetings with Dumbledore, this was a problem he felt he had no one to confide in about. It was too complicated - and admittedly terrifying - to simply sit Ron down and say, _"Hey, mate, I fancy your little sister."_ And if he couldn't tell Ron, talking to Hermione about it just felt like he'd be betraying him somehow. Not to mention the whole thing would be incredibly embarrassing. He heaved with a heavy sigh, pulling his glasses off and letting them clatter to the table, roughly rubbing his closed eyes.

It was impossible to concentrate knowing that tomorrow morning he had detention with _Snape_ of all people, and worse yet was the knowledge that it was only the first of many. And of course, as if everything else wasn't enough to deal with, there was also the omnipresent problem in his life: Lord Voldemort.

To top it all off, the only thing he had finally caught Malfoy in the act of was crying. Actually _,_ physically _, crying_ \- like a real human being - and then Harry went and slashed him open like an imbecile. The shame and guilt he felt was almost too much.

He felt so heavy - weighted down by life's pressures. He pushed his glasses back on, staring out of the Gryffindor Tower window. The pressure pushed into him from all angles, firmly rooting him to the ground - making him decide that maybe the ground was exactly what he needed to get away from.

* * *

He was going to be killed. His attempts had failed and he _was going to be killed_. First his mother, then his father. He would then die next, of course, only after he had suffered from watching his parents die. His mind drifted to a certain someone who had suffered a nearly identical circumstance, albeit they were fortunately too young to remember the horror of it.

He tried not to think about any of it. He _tried_ to only concentrate on the task at his hands, but that was proving to be impossible. Almost as impossible as it was to repair the damn Cabinet.

He was spending nearly every waking moment outside of class with fucking thing. He was barely eating, barely sleeping, barely _living_. His stint in the hospital wing a few days ago, courtesy of none other than Saint Potter, was the first time he had truly slept in ages, thanks to Pomfrey's large dose potions. He knew he was being set up to fail and he was determined to prevent it. He could feel himself becoming more reckless with each passing day, his desperation and depression settling in. It made him utterly devoid of hope. Snape should have just let him...

No. No, because that would have made Potter a murderer, and he wouldn't wish his own future fate on his worst ... enemy.

Because that's what he thought Potter was. The _enemy_ . And he was able to block his mind from his own mother, Snape, and even the fucking _Dark Lord himself_ from from knowing anything otherwise. 

Even when he had tread into an awkward, unknown territory with Blaise two nights ago and Blaise - with his stupid guessing games and his _stupid_ Wizard's Promise and his stupid _special talents -_ got a small taste of his true feelings, Draco had seen to correct that immediately. 

There was little that a well-performed memory charm couldn't fix. 

No one would know. _No one_ could _ever_ know.

Perhaps if his entire life hadn't already been planned for him at birth and he didn't have to follow in his Father's footsteps to retain the family glory and status and all of that other crap... he could have been one hell of an Obliviator for the Ministry.

_It would have been so easy_. This recently reckless and radically different voice of his rang through his mind. _It would have been so easy to go to him when he caught me there and tell him I'm sorry for_ **_everything_**. _He would've listened. He would still_ _listen, even now. I could go to him. I could. He would understand. And then we both could go to Du-_

Draco immediately interrupted that thought with an angry scream, amplified tenfold in the small cabinet space he had been standing in, working to repair it unsuccessfully.

"Why do you not return to it later?"

Draco whipped around, wand-arm flailing, immediately firing off a hex in the direction of the unknown intruder's voice. The hex hit a large stack of mismatched furniture, sending it crashing to the ground and Draco's eyes finally focused on who had spoken.

"H - how did you get in here?" he asked the ghostly figure of The Bloody Baron, instantly thinking he was rather stupid for doing so. From the look on The Baron's face, he thought the same.

"You may have noticed that I am departed from the living, but not from eternal life. If you have not, then I shall show you."

He swept forward and Draco could do nothing as The Bloody Baron passed right through him, drenching him in the sensation of being dunked in the harshest of icy waters, making him gasp and shiver.

He opened his eyes which had involuntarily screwed shut from anticipation and found the lifeless silvery-black ones belonging to The Baron shining across from him. Draco had never feared ghosts, but even he could admit The Baron, with his silver bloodstains and awful blank stare, was mildly terrifying.

"I'm - I'm aware, sir. Forgive me, it's just that I have never seen another departed being in this room before." Draco spoke carefully; there were ancient types of magic that ghosts held power to and to anger a ghost by carelessly upsetting one would be a very foolish mistake. Especially if it was an unpredictable ghost like The Baron.

"I have roamed this castle for nearly as long as it has stood." His hollow voice rasped. 

"I see. So are the others also aware of this place?"

"Some."

Draco nodded and thought better to ask which from the tone of The Baron's eerie voice, though he desperately hoped that that half-headless Gryffindor piss-cloud wasn't one of them. 

"You are too troubled."

Draco tried his best to keep his expression simple. He was admittedly shocked, not just from the truth of it, but from the ironic nature of an eternally brooding, usually mute ghost covered in blood calling _him_ too troubled.

"I am, yes."

"I have heard from the one who cries," he continued, his voice leaving a creepy, quiet echo. "We normally do not interfere with matters of the living - and yet - you _are_ of my house..." 

"Yes, sir. I am."

The Baron nodded. He seemed to be struggling with himself and Draco wondered when the last time he had ever spoken like this to a student was - or if he had ever done so in his long afterlife.

"You must - "

He abruptly stopped himself, gripping his chains that began to rattle ominously and let out an unearthly groan.

"You must not submit to your misery. _Trust me_."

Draco nodded in terror.

"Trust me," he repeated in a hoarse whisper as he glided closer. His cold, undead breath was only an inch away from his face, sending chills down Draco's spine.

Then he immediately sunk through the floor, disappearing from sight. Draco stared at his feet and inhaled deeply, his heart starting to beat again. Stunned at the encounter, he slowly turned back to the broken Vanishing cabinet behind him in a daze.

The Baron was right. He _should_ come back to it later. He was running himself ragged at every moment and he was of no use to anything like that. He needed some time to recuperate. He needed to clear his over-burdened mind. He needed room to _breathe freely_ \- away from all the stress.

A nearby clock showed him it was 9:13pm. He had just enough time to make it down to the Quidditch pitch and fly for a bit. With the final game on tomorrow and nearly everyone most likely to currently be in Hogsmeade, he was sure it would be empty.

* * *

Draco didn't bother to change into his flying gear as he quickly grabbed his broom from the Slytherin changing room. He wanted the most time to fly he could get before Hooch or Filch showed up and started hollering about curfew, house points, detentions and other completely pointless nonsense...

Draco looked at the dark pitch with a seeker's keen eye, looking for other fliers or perhaps some snogging couple in the stands - but it was mercifully empty. He mounted his broom and let his horrid stream of anxious thoughts trail behind him as he ascended. He felt marvelously free in the air. It had always brought him a genuine, innocent sense of joy ever since he was a small child.

About 20 or so minutes later, Draco reluctantly began to make his way back to the ground, spiraling the length of the pitch down as slowly as he could - never wanting the blissful feeling to end.

He sighed sadly when his feet touched the ground again, as if it were some Portkey that had transported him back to reality.

He had let out quite a bit of pent-up aggression in the air. He was soaked in his sweat, his white cotton shirt stuck to his back. The dust from the Room of Requirement that had clung to his cloak now felt caked onto his skin. He looked at the clock on the wall of the changing room as he entered - 9:46pm. 14 minutes. He put his broom away while deciding that a shower would feel much better than any cleaning charm would.

He got to the men's quidditch showers only seconds later, peeling off his robe in hurried disgust as he went. His cloak whooshed past his legs as he flung it down on the bench and then started at his tie - long, pale fingers pulling the precise knot undone in a second. The emerald and silver fabric landed on the floor near feet that were kicking off shoes and socks, rushing against time. He pulled off his house sweater vest so violently that his slicked back, white-blonde hair became mussed, sticking up awkwardly in random places and falling into his eyes. His fingers started working on the delicate buttons of his shirt. He was half-way down when he impatiently decided he should just use his wand to speed the rest up when he stopped dead, hand held out perfectly still in mid-reach towards his robe.

In the 30 or so seconds he had spent ripping his clothes off, he had not noticed the faint rushing sound of water coming from the far end of the next room. The sound he _had_ noticed, however, was unmistakably a moan.

Draco knew there could only be one other person at Hogwarts who was as crazy as he was to fly the pitch less than an hour before curfew...

Maybe he was going mad. That had to be it. The stress of his life and responsibilities was finally getting to him. He was just imagining it. There was no way-

Another moan, low and quiet traveled from the back of the showers to his ears.

Draco's heart climbed into his throat. This couldn't be happening. This had to be some sort of crazy, karmic punishment for wiping Blaise's memory after he had just admitted to him _this very same fantasy_ …

_"Classic_ . _"_ Blaise had called it.

His own memory from only two nights ago swam through his mind.

_"Next time I catch Potter in the showers I suppose I should just slam him against the wall and have my way with him, then."_

He had said that in utter sarcasm, but then Blaise had said:

_"Why not?"_

And despite how wrong it was, Draco was hardening at the thought. While he would never force it, the fantasy that he had been wanking to for the better part of that year was possib-

_No._ That was far too ridiculous. He needed to leave. He needed to gather his soggy, sweaty clothes and high-tail it the fuck out of there. He bent down and snatched his tie up from the floor when a muffled, desperate sound reached him, going straight to his cock. Biting his lip, he slung his tie around his neck and began reaching for his vest when a dangerous thought struck him.

What if it _wasn't_ Potter wanking in there? What if he was even crazier than he originally thought for just automatically assuming that it _was_ Potter? There are over a thousand people at Hogwarts, it really could be anyone...

He was pulling the wool over his own eyes now, he knew that, but the question gave him an overwhelming urge to be sure. His feet were suddenly obeying curiosity. He could just peek around the wall. That's it. Just a quick peek to confirm or deny who -

In the last shower stall on the right at the back of the steamy room stood a young man with jet-black hair that only hung flat because it was held down by a stream of hot water. That water flowed over broad shoulders and prominent shoulder blades, down into the deep dip of lower back and over the round curves of his arse - separating into vertical rivers running over toned, muscled thighs and legs. He was bent forward slightly, his left hand splayed out on the wall in front of him. His right arm, half blocked from view, was moving in a rapid motion. Draco tore his eyes away to the pile of clothes resting nearby on a dry shower bench and saw scarlet and gold there - not that he needed any further confirmation.

Now that they were no longer in separate rooms, Draco could make out the harsh panting added to the sound of the running water. He ducked back behind the wall, hands nervously smoothing his hair back, mind beginning to race.

Could he go over there and interrupt exactly as he had done countless times in his fantasies? It _was_ a communal shower, after all. If he _did_ interrupt and things went sour, he could just carry on with his business. But could he do it?

Or was he just a coward - a coward that was forever doomed to hide behind a facade made up of pure blood and wealth - not brave enough to have been placed in Gryffindor?

Was he actually going to allow this opportunity to pass him by? That meant he would never know how Potter would _really_ react. Sure, his imagination had run wild many times, but nothing would ever compare to experiencing the real thing.

If Draco was successful with his mission, he certainly would not be returning to Hogwarts next year and therefore this miraculous opportunity would never happen again. And if Draco was unsuccessful - he would die.

He would die without ever having known what Potter - stupid, brave Gryffindor that he was - would _actually_ do if Draco came on to him.

Draco felt his feet moving before his mind could catch up to what he was doing. It seemed that his brain had already made the decision for him. That, or his cock had, pushing hard against the front of his trousers. He tried willing himself to breathe correctly.

He was close enough now that he could hear the small whimper that escaped from the other man - a sound he knew from his own experience that orgasm was near.

And as much as Draco Malfoy hated clichés - it was now or never.

"Enjoying yourself, Potter?" 

Potter jumped so sharply his left hand slipped off the tiles with a loud squeak and he almost fell face first into the wall. A second later a wand was being pointed in his face. 

_Merlin, he showers with his... ? -_ but Draco's brain seemed to cease all other thought because it had noticed Potter was absolutely fucking _beautiful._

"Malfoy?" he said in weak surprise and slightly lowered his wand.

Whatever Draco had been expecting - it wasn't that. He remembered Blaise suggesting Harry's weakness - telling him how easy it would be to guilt trip Potter into sex as payment for slashing him to near death.

That's what Slytherins _would_ do. Cunningly use any means to achieve ends, or whatever that old pile of rags had said. But that reckless, radical voice deep inside his head vehemently disagreed.

"I _asked_ if you were enjoying yourself, Potter. It certainly sounded like it." His arms were crossed, his voice his usual drawl despite the explosion of his nerves.

Harry, who had already been flushed from his face down to the top of his chest, turned practically the same shade of scarlet as one-half of Gryffindor's house colours.

"Look, Malfoy - if - if you're trying to - to get me back or whatever for the other day - I don't blame you. I deserve it," he said bitterly. "But I'm not going to stop defending myself."

It took Malfoy every bit of self-restraint he had to not let his shock show.

"You still haven't answered me," he said, his voice coming out in an unintentional whisper, and no amount of self-restraint could stop his eyes from roaming down that tan, gorgeously toned body that was more perfect than any fantasy could produce.

Harry's cock _was_ big, curving just a bit towards his navel - flushed at the crown and still rock hard despite the interruption. He unconsciously licked his lips.

Harry's gasp made his eyes snap back up, meeting two shocked emeralds behind circular lenses that were - sure enough - charmed to stay clear of water and steam.

"Malfoy-" Harry gasped again, and the sound of his surname rushing quietly past full lips made his prick jerk against tight fabric.

"Malfoy, did you take anything made by Romilda Vane?"

The bizarre nature of the random question shook him for a second.

"Who?"

"Romilda Vane - she's a fourth year in my house, she's been messing about with love potions all year and -"

"I assure you, Potter, I am completely sober of any love potions." 

Harry looked positively alarmed.

"Oh. Then - then you -"

"Genuinely want an answer," he finished for him. Harry was looking at him more carefully now and he knew his own pale cheeks were flushed. There was no way Harry would miss the unmistakable tent he was pitching.

With an audible gulp, Harry looked back up at him, his expression full of confusion.

"Yes. I was," he whispered, and his wand - though still tightly gripped - was now completely at his side.

In his fantasies, this is where he was supposed to suavely step into the running shower, wrap his arms around that lithe frame and kiss him so expertly that Harry would melt and willingly let Draco do whatever he pleased.

However, due to recent events and reality, that option seemed inadvisable. 

"What were you thinking about?" he asked quietly instead, pressing his luck and tentatively taking the smallest step forward. 

Harry nervously licked his lips, his eyes flicking down to Malfoy's half open shirt before he shook water from his fringe, then looked at him with a hard, daring expression.

"Ginny Weasley." 

"Mm. She does it for you, then, yeah?" he said, the sudden huskiness of his voice surprising both of them.

"Yeah." Harry huffed, giving him a defiant look that dared him to speak poorly of it. Draco, for once, was headed in a very different direction.

He stepped another inch closer.

"You know what does it for me, Potter?"

He could see the rapid rise and fall of Harry's chest and Harry slowly shook his head, green eyes still bearing into him hard.

"You."

Harry continued to stare, looking at him as if he were trying to figure out what nefarious thing he was up to now, clearly in disbelief what he just said.

"So is that why you've been such a prick to me all these years?" he blurted out suddenly, verging on anger.

"Perhaps," said Malfoy with a small shrug, his eyebrow quirking. Harry looked as if Draco had just slapped him.

" _Th_ _at's_ why you've constantly insulted me? And my friends, and my family, _and_ my friend's families? Because you - you _fancy_ me?" Draco could see the muscles in his right arm flex briefly and his mouth went dry.

Potter getting angry never failed to turn him on. He felt his cock throb and he dared himself to inch forward again.

"I find you _attractive_ , Potter," he drawled with an effort, and Harry's harsh expression faltered. Despite how much he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to admit much more. "That doesn't mean I have to be a saint like you."

"I'm not a _saint_ ," Harry grit out, his right arm flexing again, and Draco had to bite back the desperate sound that tried to escape him.

"You are," he taunted, unable to stop himself. "Saint Potter. Not even Dark magic can taint your sainthood..." He felt his breath increase in pace.

"I - I didn't -" Harry was saying, his anger fading fast. He was looking terribly ashamed of himself and Malfoy couldn't resist taking another step closer.

"I didn't get the dittany fast enough on my chest, Potter," he whispered quickly, opening up the rest of his shirt to reveal the long, thin scar that curved across his torso, still pink and healing.

He then delicately touched the top of it near his left shoulder, his middle and index fingers tracing the path down towards his right hip. This time he didn't hold back the sound he made.

"Don't -" he gasped, running his palm flat back up over it. If Harry decided to let this go any further, he wanted to make sure it had nothing to do with guilt. "Don't feel _guilty_ , Potter. You know I started it. And I know you -" he bit his lip as his hand pressed over his sensitive left nipple. "Didn't mean to do it." Harry went from looking ashamed to bewildered in a single second as he watched.

"And in case you can't tell, I quite like having a permanent reminder of you on my own skin." He said, boldly running the flat of his hand over the bulge in his trousers, a deep groan catching in his throat.

Harry's eyes grew wide at his brazen display and he stepped back a bit, causing the streaming water to come down directly over his head. He leaned to the side to avoid it.

"M- Malfoy," he squeaked, his left hand wiping excess water from his face before he quickly cleared his throat. "If - if you don't get the hell out of here in the next ten seconds, I'll hex your bollocks off."

Draco huffed a laugh, his hand stilling over said bollocks in his trousers. 

Just as he predicted. Potter's consent truly was an unrealistic fantasy. He was thankful enough at least that Potter hadn't _immediately_ hexed him or told him to get out. He should admit his defeat now and find some stupid excuse for his brief lack of sanity. He was utterly foolish for thinking Potter would ever-

He was selfishly letting his eyes roam over Potter again one last time, committing his naked form to memory when his eyes froze. Potter was still - _still_ \- completely hard.

Draco had been interrupted a number of times in his life while masturbating and every single time - save for idiot Blaise a few nights ago - it was by someone he found to be the absolute least desirable person imaginable. He had encountered Crabbe, his own mother and even that insane house-elf Dobby once. Every single one of those times had caused his erection to deflate faster than a punctured Quaffle.

"You're not hexing me, yet, Potter," he stated, hope flooding back into his veins like some sort of dangerously addictive drug. It infected his brain and made him feel invincible as adrenaline coursed through him. He just _had_ to know. He had to find out for sure before it was too late.

Draco stepped only six more inches forward right into the shower stall and Harry immediately stepped back, his back pressed flat against the cool tiles.

The stream of the shower separated them and Harry lifted his wand into it halfheartedly, causing the same effect of putting the back of a spoon under a running tap. The fact that he was completely defenseless against Potter right now thrilled him; his wand was still inside his sweat-soaked robe back in the entrance room.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like you've gone completely mad," Harry said in a rush.

Draco smirked. "I have. But you're still hard."

Harry swallowed thickly.

"Sod off," he said, nearly too quiet to hear over the water beating against the tiles around them.

"Do you really want me to?" Draco asked, stepping into the stream. The hot water hit his platinum blonde hair, turning it a very pale gold as it fell heavy around his head, clinging to his ears and neck. His white shirt became nearly transparent, sticking to him like a second skin and his trousers were becoming weighted, drifting slightly from his hips due to the amount of water they were absorbing.

"Yes." Harry whispered, though his expression seemed to say otherwise. He lowered his wand so as to not jab Malfoy in the chest with it and marveled at the sight of him.

"Are you sure?" Draco said only inches away now, so close to pressing himself against the other man that he could feel Harry's body heat adding to the heat of the water now coming down on just his back.

Harry stared at him, breathing hard.

"...No."

Malfoy's racing heart tripped, skipping several beats and he pressed his hands flat against the tile on either side of Harry's head.

The small difference in their height was now very apparent in their proximity. Draco stared down his nose only centimeters away from Harry's own, their breath mingling together.

"I'll leave right now if you really want, Potter," he breathed against his lips. "Just say it and I'll go away and pretend this never happened."

"Say what?" he asked, his eyes nervously darting back and forth between Malfoy's grey ones to his pink, flushed lips, standing out against his pale skin.

"Say you don't want this. Tell me you don't want to know what it'd be like. Say it and I'll leave, Potter."

"And what if I don't say it?" Harry breathed back. Draco was sure his heart was about to pound its way straight out of his chest and fall onto the wet floor.

He then decided he deserved some sort of honorary dual house membership to Gryffindor because leaning forward and pressing his lips to Potter's instead of answering him properly was a complete act of bravery.

For one long, terrifying moment, nothing happened except shallow breathing through noses nearly pressed together side by side as their lips gently touched.

Then he felt Potter's right arm moving up and was sure that Harry was _finally_ going to hex him until he felt a fist - still tightly enclosed around a wand - press into his shoulder blade. It brought him just the tiniest bit closer, increasing the pressure of their closed-mouth kiss just so.

That was definitely not a hex, nor did it seem like any semblance of the word "no", and before Draco woke up from this alternate reality where life was suddenly being kind to him again, he pushed his tongue past soft lips.

Harry made a small noise of surprise in response and Draco drank it in, tongue finding his paralyzed one and caressing it. He dipped it under Harry's tongue, moving it against the slick underside and back over again. 

Harry unfroze himself and brought his empty hand up against his other shoulder blade, the pads of his calloused fingers digging as he moaned softly into Draco's mouth, tongue slowly reciprocating.

If the Dark Lord decided to burst through the wall and kill Draco right now, he would at least be able to say he died happily.

With a noise that sounded like he had just tasted the most exquisite dessert, he deepened the kiss, tilting his head as he explored Harry's mouth.

Harry, exhibiting an equal enthusiasm, pulled against his shoulder blades hard, forcing Draco forward. Their bodies were suddenly pressed flush against one another.

Mutual gasps were added to the sound of Harry's wand clattering to the tile floor as Draco's hard cock beneath his sodden trousers was now firmly pressed against Harry's bare prick.

They caught each other's heated, shocked eyes and Draco held onto the gaze as he slowly ground his hips forward.

Harry's blunt nails dug into his back through his thin, drenched shirt, his mouth falling open as wet wool roughly rubbed against his over-sensitive cock.

"Holy shit," he gasped. Entranced, Draco ground against him a second time. Harry's head fell back as he moaned, long and deep, head lightly thumping the tile wall. Crazed by the amount of lust consuming him, Draco bent his head down and licked the base of Harry's throat, dragging his hot tongue up to Harry's ear. He traced over the cartilage with the tip before sucking in the soft lobe.

"Oh _fuck_ ," Harry whined, clutching at his back and pressing his cock forward. Draco grabbed hold of Harry's biceps hard to keep himself from coming in his pants, his own answering moan only a hum through lips still closed around the soft flesh of Harry's earlobe.

Harry began to thrust against him, repeatedly grinding his naked body against Draco's with a look of determined desperation on his face. The consistent hot pressure coupled with Harry's avidity further threatened his hold on himself and he knew if he didn't do something about it quickly this would be over much too soon. He let the small, slick flesh leave his lips with a gasp. 

"Do you want my mouth, Potter?" he whispered against his ear, sending a shiver through the other man.

Harry's hips stilled as his brain caught up to the question.

"What?" 

"My mouth," Draco repeated, pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes. "Do you want me on my knees, Potter, with your cock in my mouth?" 

"Are - are you serious?" Harry said, his pupils dilating.

In response, Draco crashed his lips down to Harry's in another intense kiss, grinding their hips together again. Harry was frantically pulling him closer and it took Draco a great amount of effort to stop that intoxicating blissfulness. 

"I am," he said, finally pulling his lips away and panting. "I want it. I've wanted you so bad, Harry." He saw lust replace the shock - whether from using his first name or the blatant confession, he didn't know - on the brunette's face.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, accompanied by a small nod. "Yeah."

Draco stared at him hard. 

"Yeah _what_ , Harry?" he said, the second use of his name still making him feel like he was speaking some undiscovered ancient language. "Say it."

Harry looked back at him, his eyes showing something challenging, firey and commanding yet somehow still soft and vulnerable in their depths.

"I - I want my cock in your mouth... Draco."

Draco closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to steady the intensity of the desire ripping through him. His head fell forward, forehead pressing into Harry's shoulder as he stepped back slightly, mourning the loss of their bodies touching for only a moment.

Then he licked the wet, golden skin in front of him, pressing searing, open-mouthed kisses further down while his knees slowly, _slowly_ began to dip. 

Harry started panting, watching the blonde kiss and lick his way down his left pectoral muscle.

_"Ah!"_ he exclaimed, his back arching off the tile as a pink tongue flicked over his nipple. Draco stopped, surprised at the reaction. He looked up at Harry, a wicked smirk toying at his lips before he closed his mouth around the pert bud and gently sucked.

Harry's hands fisted into the wet fabric stuck to his back, gasping and jutting his hips forward against nothing, his heavy member swaying.

Keeping his mouth right where it was - with his tongue flicking the hardened nub and his eyes trained on the face above his - Draco reached forward and wrapped his long, pale fingers around Harry's cock.

"Oh fuck, _oh_ _fuck_ ," Harry swore yet again, his voice nearly a low, shaking sob.

Draco didn't know how he hadn't just come from that sound alone as pleasure jolted through his gut. He had never imagined the real Harry, saint that he _still_ was no matter how he denied it, to be so explicit during sex. It was driving him wild.

He pulled his mouth off Harry's nipple to look down, watching his own hand move over the long, thick length of Harry's cock in amazement. The muscles under the taut skin of Harry's flat abdomen flexing as Harry rocked his hips to meet his hand was surely one of the most erotic sights he had ever seen. The action of it was almost no different than stroking his own, but it felt infinitely better than anything he had ever tried with girls. There was no guessing here, no need for exceedingly gentle, unsure fingers. He started twisting his fist as he came up, slightly increasing the pressure, knowing just how much he loved that sensation himself.

"Draco," Harry said, his voice hoarse. Draco snapped his gaze back up to Harry's face. "I'll - I'll c- come if you keep -"

Draco bit his bottom lip hard. It was _so hot_ to hear him admit that. He would love to see Potter come like this, just by slowly jerking him off and watching him lose control under _his_ hand. However, as great as that would definitely be, he was dead set on bringing Potter to completion with his mouth.

He let Harry's cock fall out of his grip, grazing his fingertips over the reddened, fleshy crown and was rewarded with a keening, high pitched whine. Pulling away all together, his lips found Potter's again while his hands were flying to undo his belt, his shaking fingers slipping over the wet leather and pure silver buckle.

After a few seconds, Harry gently pushed him back a bit to watch him undress in a dazed fascination, like he had somehow never before seen another bloke undress. As Draco undid the second to last button, the fabric slipped from his grasp, the weight of the wet, heavy wool sinking quickly down his legs.

His impossibly hard cock, now free from the only thing that had contained it, sprang forward, wrenching a noise of relief out of him. He stepped out of his trousers, kicking them backwards through the running water with the heel of his foot, now clothed only in his open, wet cotton button-down.

Harry looked back up at him, something nervous in his expression. Panic gripped at Draco, twisting his insides into knots. They had both crossed so many lines already; surely Harry knew there was no point in stopping now - not when they were mere feet from the finish. Worrying that Harry might really change his mind if any more time elapsed, he gripped Harry's hips for leverage and immediately sank to his knees.

He heard Harry's breath hitch and he wrapped his hand around the base of the hard length in front of his face, the little finger of his right hand disappearing into a thick patch of wet, black curls. He licked his lips, his mouth practically watering for it as he quickly leaned in.

"Malfoy, wait," Harry gasped. 

Malfoy had to force away his prominent Slytherin nature and spoiled upbringing that called for him to disobey order and take what he wanted _right now_. He grit his teeth from the effort, his heart sinking as he looked up. With his luck, Harry had probably finally regained his sanity and was going to tell him to stop.

"How long?"

Draco blinked up at him, taken aback.

"What?"

"How long have you … wanted this?"

Draco's eyes went unfocused as he remembered the first time he came from deliberately touching himself to do so, rather than from waking up to it already happening. He hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking about hearing Harry speak parseltongue.

"Second year." 

His eyes refocused on Harry's, who now looked like he knew something that Draco had not wanted _anyone,_ least of all Harry himself, to ever know. 

Harry swallowed and nodded quickly and even Draco's sudden fear could not diminish the weeping erection between his legs.

"Do you still want this, Potter?" he said just loud enough to be heard over the water hitting the back of his calves.

Apparently unable to speak, Harry nodded again, still breathing hard.

"Say it out loud, then." Draco said, wanting to be absolutely sure he wasn't imagining it. "Tell me what you want, Harry. _Please_."

"I want... this. I want -" he paused, tongue nervously flicking over his lips. "Draco, I want you to suck my cock."

Not wasting another moment, Draco gave Harry what they both wanted. He wrapped his lips around the head of Harry's cock, his groan drowned out by the near-scream Harry made.

"Oh my g- _nnnnngh_ ," he moaned as Draco took more of him in his mouth, tongue rocking against his hard flesh.

And just as he had in his fantasy, Harry tangled his hands into his wet, blonde hair, gripping and moving with Draco's head as it began to bob. Although he had never done it before, giving head was far from Advanced Arithmancy and he was enjoying every bit of it as much as he knew he would - if sucking his own fingers while he wanked had been any indication. Every motion of his mouth caused a new sound to be wrenched out of Potter, each one of them going straight to his own, ignored cock. 

His lips continued to meet his own hand repeatedly until he removed it, wanting to find out if he could _really_ suck Potter's cock down completely. He inhaled deeply and forced his throat to relax, moving forward until his nose was buried in wet curls and the hands in his hair tightened, holding him there.

"Fuck, oh my god, I _fuck -_ Draco, I - please, I'm -" Harry was a babbling mess above him and he knew that at this rate this was heading towards the end at full speed.

Draco choked slightly as he slowly pulled off of Harry, wanting to draw out this miraculous situation for as long as possible. With lips still wrapped around the tip, he looked up and found green eyes that were positively burning into him. Harry's mouth was shut tight, his jaw set hard and Draco understood that Harry was also holding himself off. 

The knowledge of that sent waves of pleasure rippling through him and his thumbs dug into Harry's hips hard to keep from touching himself. He let Harry's cock slip entirely from his mouth. It sprang back up, bobbing towards his abdomen and Draco tilted his head to the right as he leaned in, experimentally licking a broad stripe up Harry's bollocks to the base of his cock. He heard a gasp above him, causing him to do it again, his nose pressing into the soft top of Harry's scrotum as he licked. A deep, guttural groan caught in Harry's throat.

Encouraged and loving the weight of Harry's tight sack against his tongue, Draco continued to lick at him until Harry was clearly going mad from it, evidenced by his hands scrabbling against the tiles. He could feel the hair flattening with each stroke of his tongue and although his face was buried against his balls, he could swear that Potter was practically growling from the sensation. The reality of Harry’s reactions turned him on far more than he had ever imagined they would. He had always thought that the _real_ Harry, contrary to many of his fantasies, would be prudish, timid and gentle, innocently blushing with loving little sighs and soft touches.

Harry suddenly pulled his head back by his hair with one hand, his other wrapping around his own cock to firmly press it against Draco's right cheek and Draco now knew he had been gloriously wrong.

"You want it?" Harry rasped, his head bent forward and the water from his hair dripping onto Draco's face. He looked nearly feral with his chest heaving, pressing his cock harder against Draco's cheek, still forcefully holding his head back by his hair. If not for the mild pain he felt at the back of his skull, Draco would have been absolutely sure he was having the most fantastic dream. He moaned as he opened his mouth for it, his erection jumping from his own act of submission. 

Harry traced his swollen, red lips with the head of his cock before just barely dipping the tip inside his open, waiting mouth with a soft grunt. He pulled it back out and tapped it against Draco's bottom lip, and Draco made a wanton noise in response that sounded embarrassingly feminine. Harry dipped the tip past his lips once more and Draco's tongue darted out against him, making Harry gasp under his mercy again. He replaced Harry's hand with his own, circling his tongue around the crown and tracing the tip of it up his frenulum and over the slit, reveling in the clean taste and feel of him. Out of a wicked curiosity, he abruptly stopped licking. Harry immediately whined in frustration, desperate need etched into every inch of his face as he looked down at the blonde, pleading, and Draco then realized that sucking cock was the hottest power struggle he had ever endured.

With Harry intently watching him, Draco spit over his prick before he began to take it all back down his throat again at a maddeningly slow pace.

"Ohgodohgodoh-" Harry chanted as he watched his cock disappear inch by inch into Malfoy's hot, eager mouth. Draco pulled back after meeting wet curls, his cheeks hollowed from sucking as he went. He stopped at the head, continuing to suck and swirl his tongue around it, purposely tormenting the brunette. Both hands were back in his hair again and Draco forcefully held his hips back, preventing him from bucking. " _Uhnnn_ , fuck - please - Draco, _please, please, please-"_

The sound of him giving in and _begging_ for it - of _Harry Potter_ begging him, _Draco Malfoy -_ broke the last bit of self-restraint he had. He hurriedly wrapped a fist around his own aching member, his lips buzzing against the silk-soft skin of Harry's dick as they caught his own moan.

With his restraint gone, he sped up, his mouth matching the same brutal rhythm his hand had begun. Harry's back arched off of the wall, hands still tightly wound into Draco's hair as he thrust his hips to meet the erratic new pace, his mouth hanging open as he panted.

"I can't - I can't," Harry choked out after only a few intense moments of fucking his mouth. "Draco, I'm - I'm going to - _fuck -_ I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, _I'm_ -" 

Draco did not stop sucking even as Harry went rigid, his hand rapidly pumping over himself as Harry came into his mouth, violently spurting hot seed over his tongue with a long, drawn out groan.

He felt Harry's thighs quivering, his legs threatening to give out as the last of his orgasm jerked through him. Harry unclenched his hands from his hair and Draco put a strong left hand against him, holding him steady. He felt the last twitch of Harry's cock in his mouth and he finally pulled off, tilting his head back more than necessary to look up. 

While Harry watched him, he opened his mouth and swept his come-covered tongue over his lips like a whore before licking them clean again. Then, without ever breaking eye contact and with his fist still flying over his prick, he swallowed - his adam's apple bobbing as Harry's thick spunk slid down his throat.

" _Draco_ ," Harry sighed, looking at him in awe, and Draco felt the earth collapsing around him, coming harder than he had ever done in his entire life. His nails dug into the skin of Harry's muscled thigh, his whole body shaking from the intensity of it as his cry echoed throughout Quidditch shower room.

The seconds passed as he fell from his high, slowly opening his heavy eyelids while his lungs were trying to absorb as much oxygen as fast as they could. Part of the tiled wall, Harry's right leg and his inner thigh were all striped with Draco's come, dripping down like rivulets of wet paint on canvas.

Still in a post earth-shattering orgasmic stupor, he felt himself moving to sit on the tile floor in slow-motion. The water splashed around him a bit as his back hit the left side of the shower stall's wall, resting his forearms on bent knees that were red and oddly indented with the pattern of the tiled floor. The toes of his right foot were mere centimetres away from Harry's discarded wand, and he barely noticed that Harry was moving to sit across from him, the stream of the shower now cascading over their shins.

_What now?_ He started to wonder, his sluggish brain starting to function again. His fantasies had, of course, never proceeded to this point and now that he was regaining his senses again, fear began to settle back in.

He chanced looking up. Harry blinked back at him, looking just as lost as he was.

He really was beautiful - and not just physically, no. Damn him. Potter was way more than a pretty face. He was loyal and caring, full of generosity and kindness and _love_ …

He felt his heart swelling, his emotions beginning to overwhelm him. Harry had been destined to kill The Dark Lord for much, much longer than Draco had been to Dumbledore. And yet Harry was always still kind, still caring - still so strong through all he had endured. One would never know from talking to him that half the Wizarding World was counting on him to be their savior. He couldn't understand it. He knew what that pressure was like, now; he had the entire Dark side expecting him to do something he wasn't sure he was even capable of. And where Harry was a pillar of strength, he was a crumbling ruin, soon to fall apart for good any day now.

Draco finally looked away from him and let his head fall with his tears. Harry, whom he had spent the last six years ridiculing after a rejected offer of friendship and who was supposed to be his _enemy_ , was probably the only person who truly understood him. 

He could feel his shoulders starting to shake and a soft sob escaped him despite his best efforts to stifle it.

"It's Voldemort, isn't it?" Harry asked him quietly, though it wasn't a question.

Harry had said the name most feared in their world with such ease. He was so brave, so brilliant. So _powerful_. And while the answer to Harry's rhetorical question was mostly yes, The Dark Lord had nothing much to do with his tears this time.

Draco couldn't bear to look into those green eyes again, not like this. He felt pathetic.

"No, Potter, I'm crying because Puddlemere lost to the fucking _Canons_." His voice was muffled as he spoke to his thighs, his elbows now digging against his knees as he gripped the back of his own head.

He heard Harry huff a short, awkward laugh and his heart clenched from it, unable to stop his oncoming tears. 

Water gently splashed against him as Harry moved through the spray to sit directly next to him on his left, Harry's thigh and knee pressed against his own. He swallowed back another sob - Harry's unprejudiced concern and kindness was too much for him.

He felt Harry reaching up and a hand carefully closed around his left wrist. He slowly pried it away from blonde hair and pulled his arm down between them. 

Draco realized what Harry was doing a moment before he did it, and while his brain was screaming at him to stop it, his heart let it happen.

Harry had very gently turned Draco's left arm over. There was no need to roll his shirtsleeve up; The Dark Mark was so prominent against the porcelain-white skin of his forearm that it showed through the soaked, nearly transparent cotton.

"What's he making you do?" Harry said, his quiet voice laced with unmistakable sadness.

"I can't tell you that," he immediately replied, still refusing to look at the other man. He tried to ignore the immense guilt he felt over Bell and Weasley welling up inside of him.

"Then at least tell me what he's threatening you with."

Draco tensed.

"He's… he's going to kill my parents while I watch. Then me." 

Harry was silent for a few moments before he said exactly what Draco expected him to say.

"Dumbledore can help you, you know."

"Yeah?" he said sarcastically, letting his anger and bitterness get the best of him. He finally looked up at Harry, his eyes puffy and red from crying. "Can he help my father gain back his reputation and power after Azkaban? Can he help restore glory to the Malfoy family name? Can _he_ ensure a pureblood-centric society?"

"Malfoy, what does any of that shit matter?"

Draco opened his mouth to tell him, except that he had nothing to say. His memories didn't lie to him, as much as he had tried to ignore their hidden honesty. Harry's question was exactly what that radical voice of his own had been asking for a long time. 

Why _did_ it matter? 

He had always been told that muggles were practically less than human. He was told that any witch or wizard whose blood had been tainted by muggles made them far less superior. He was told that it was his duty as the sole male heir to uphold the Malfoy family name and it's centuries-long traditions. He had never been told _why._

For years and years, Draco had never even thought of asking why. And then he saw his father don his Death Eater robes for the first time, marching with the others who did so to torture those muggles at the Quidditch World Cup. As he watched from the trees, he saw the joyous atmosphere of the campground turn into a horrendous nightmare. Singing turned to screaming, children's laughter turning to pitiful cries and Draco finally wondered why.

What did it matter? What was the point of ruining the Cup? To instill fear? To gain power? _Why?_

The thoughts he had had for the first time that night challenged all that he knew and his very being. An internal crisis began to quietly wage a war within himself. He had been blindly following his parent's ideals without question for just over fourteen years. And then, as if an answer was appearing before his eyes, he came face to face with the object of his deepest, darkest secret. 

Harry stood for everything Draco was supposed to be against. He _should_ have burst through the gap in the trees and directed his father and the others directly towards him, Weasley, and Granger - exactly as his father would have expected him to. For the first time in his life that night - he did the opposite.

And here he was now, edging closer to three years later, the mental war within himself now waging alongside fighting a physical one, his question finally answered.

"It doesn't," he whispered, afraid to finally admit what he had always known. His eyes were drawn to Harry's hand still gently clasped around his left wrist. Very slowly, he moved his arm back and lightly threaded his fingers through Harry's. "None of it matters."

"Come with me to Dumbledore, Draco." Harry said, hand tightening around his. 

Draco looked over to him, meeting those beautiful green eyes. Harry's expression was both firm and soft, concerned and pleading and Draco willed himself not to cry as he nodded.

* * *

"It's past eleven," Draco said, now fully dressed back in his school uniform that he had charmed clean. He touched the tip of his wand behind his right ear and cast a drying charm on his hair. It fell softly around his face, almost touching his shoulders and naturally parted at the right side. He removed the hair in his eyes with a small jerk of his head and immediately reached into his locker behind him. He pulled out a vial of a thick, purple potion he concocted himself. Uncorking it and pouring a small glob in his left palm, he then carefully returned the cork and vial and shut his locker with his elbow. He rubbed his hands together and carded his long fingers back through his hair only once, leaving it perfectly slicked back as usual. 

He was very aware that Harry was intently watching him. He suspected it was because Harry was either still suspicious of him or expected him to get cold feet and change his mind - or both, regardless of the fact that they had just intimately showered together after mutual mind-blowing orgasms.

Well, _his_ was, at least. For all he knew, Harry might've received plenty of head from plenty of others and thought Draco was utterly shit at it.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, and for a second Draco blanched, intensely worried that Harry was able to read his mind until he saw Harry look at the clock.

"So, you have some sort of past-curfew privilege, I take it?" he said, relief flooding him.

"Sort of," Harry said, smirking as he pulled a near-liquid like fabric from a deep pocket inside his robe.

Draco instantly recognized his Invisibility Cloak and his eyes widened. 

"Both of us?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. If you stay close," he replied, and Draco felt triumph burst in his chest at Potter's blush. 

He approached Harry, stopping a few inches away. 

"May I touch it?" he asked, his voice husky, purposely glancing down and back up.

Harry's blush deepened. "Er, ye-" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Yes."

Smirking, Draco gently took part of the fabric in his hands. He had tried convincing his father to buy him his own ever since he found out Potter had one, but for once Lucius wouldn't budge. He had said it was utterly foolish to waste so much money on something temporary. 

This was unlike any of the other few Invisibility Cloaks he had ever held. It strangely felt like air and he couldn't help bringing it up to his eyes. The most expensive of Cloaks, which Draco had always assumed Harry's was, were intricately woven from Demiguise hair. 

"It isn't Demiguise," he muttered, realizing he had spoken aloud.

"Okay..." Harry said, not really understanding Draco's amazement.

Draco looked at him over the Cloak. "How long have you had this?"

"Since first year."

Draco nodded, lowering his hands. Six years... it had to be one hell of a strong Disillusionment charm, even though it didn't explain the weightlessness of the fabric.

"But it was my father's." 

Draco's mouth dropped open. There was no way a Disillusionment charm would hold up _that_ well for that long, even if Merlin himself had cast it. 

He immediately brought the fabric back up to his eyes, looking slightly mad as he examined it. 

"Are you quite sure, Potter?" he said.

"Yeah, I'm sure. He used it when he was here. Dumbledore gave it back to me at Christmas my first year."

" _Dumbledore_ gave it _back_ to you?" 

"Yeah. Well, the note said he had it before he died. Wh-"

"Holy shit," Draco gasped, staring at the fabric in his hands wide-eyed. There was no other explanation. "Harry - this is - this is _Death's Cloak_."

"Er… what?"

Draco huffed in impatience and rolled his eyes.

"You know, Death? From _The Three Brothers_?"

When Harry still looked dumbfounded, Draco supposed Harry thought he was one of those conspiracy loonies like Lovegood, and quickly rushed to explain himself.

"I mean, I'm perfectly aware most people believe the Hallows are just a myth. I certainly don't blame you for thinking that if you do, but if you really bothered to research it there's loads of evidence throughout history suggesting otherwise. And I must say - in addition to history, I'm quite educated in pureblood lines besides my own. That wasn't _entirely_ necessary, of course - my further genealogical studies were purely out of curiosity, which is a rather long-winded way of telling you how I know that you're related to the Peverells. It all makes perfect sense."

Harry blinked at him. Draco sighed.

"Many believers in the Hallows also believe _they_ were the real brothers… which has _got_ to be more than just coincidence since this Cloak was passed down to you."

His extreme satisfaction with this fascinating revelation was quickly replaced with annoyance. Harry had still only blinked in silence, his confusion palpable, and Draco wondered if Harry knew his own family history. It had been required of him to learn his own, as per tradition.

"Didn't you ever study your own bloodline?" 

"I grew up with muggles."

"So? Didn't those -" Draco stopped himself. "Didn't your, er - aunt or whomever, give you your family's ancestry book?"

To Draco's complete surprise, Harry laughed.

"My aunt _hated_ my mum. They never even told me I was a wizard."

Draco looked absolutely horrified at the mere thought of it.

"They _what_?" he said, completely aghast.

"Listen," Harry said, holding back another laugh at Draco’s expression. "If I start telling you about the Dursleys, you'll never change your mind about muggles."

"I - wait. _Wait a minute._ Does that - does that mean you honestly don't know _anything_ about what I said?"

"Not a clue." 

Draco didn't hide his shock.

"And you… you don't understand why it's strange that Dumbledore had your Cloak… considering his history with Grindelwald?"

"Er… that's the Dark wizard it says he defeated on his frog card, right?"

"Mother of Merlin, Potter." Draco said, realizing the extent of Harry's limited knowledge.

"I like you calling me Harry better." 

Draco's look of shock didn't change except for the blush that now tinged his cheeks.

"But Potter's a lot better than Scarhead, at least." Harry said with a smile.

Draco looked away as he broke into an answering smile, something he knew was extremely rare for himself.

He felt the fabric of the Cloak slipping through his fingers as Harry pulled it, stepping closer to him.

"You can tell me all about my pureblood ancestry and whatever Hallows are later," he said quietly.

He then threw the fabric over them both, still facing him.

"I'll stay in front," he said. He could feel Harry's warm breath on his face and although the Cloak had slightly dimmed their light, he was sure Harry was blushing again. 

Then Harry turned around, making him stir beneath his trousers and he cursed his teenage hormones for running amok. The Quidditch showers were a very long ways away from the Headmaster's office and even the terrifying prospect of changing his allegiance couldn't completely stop his mind from wandering south.

* * *

After a very long walk through the castle, in which Draco had to repeatedly think of an array of disgusting things to keep himself from fully hardening every time Harry's bum brushed against his front, they finally arrived at the gargoyle statue blocking entrance to the Headmaster's office.

Harry removed the Cloak while Draco's heart began beating faster than a Firebolt at its top speed.

"Pot - Harry," he swallowed. "Wait. I did those - it _was_ me who sent -"

"I know." Harry said, focused on hastily shoving the Cloak back into his robe pocket.

This didn't seem to change anything.

"What … what if he can't -"

"He can." Harry said, looking up at him.

"But - but my father is still -"

"He'll come up with something. Trust me."

Draco remembered The Baron saying the same what now felt like eons ago. He realized he would no longer have to fix that stupid Cabinet. More importantly, he no longer had to devise ways to murder another human being. He felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from him.

"Ready?" Harry said, turning to the gargoyle. 

Before Draco could nod or say some idiotic cliché line like 'ready as I'll ever be' although it was true, the statue began to move and Harry stepped back in surprise.

Draco quickly understood that meant Harry hadn't caused it, and he heard quick footsteps descending the spiral staircase.

They had no time or place to run, and Draco saw Harry frantically digging for his Cloak again.

"Leave it," Draco whispered and Harry stopped, looking at him in confusion just as Severus Snape appeared in the entrance way, his wand drawn.

"Potter, Malfoy - what are you two doing here?" he spat. "Potter, if you -"

"We want to see the Headmaster. It's important."

Snape stopped, his lips pressed into a thin line from being interrupted, his black eyes darting between them. 

"Tell me, Potter, what could be so _important_ this time of night?"

"That's between us and the Headmaster, _sir._ "

Snape inhaled sharply through his long, hooked nose, his hand clenching around his wand.

"I'm afraid the Headmaster is resting, Potter, as it is nearly... midnight," he said through his teeth.

"Then what were you just doing up there?" Harry said, glaring up at him.

" _I_ am a _Prof_ -"

"Severus." Draco said quietly. Both sets of eyes, green and black, looked at him in surprise. "I can't do it anymore."

Snape blinked at him as Harry looked back and forth between the both of them, bewildered.

"What happened?" Snape asked him, stepping closer.

"I told you, I just can't -"

"Do _not_ lie to me," he said, barely above a dangerous whisper. " _Something_ happened because you are _blocking_ it from me, Draco. Now, tell me-"

"He doesn't need to-" 

Snape shot a spell at him non-verbally and Harry instantly became completely silent and immobile.

Draco began to protest but Snape grabbed him by the front of his robes.

"Draco - _Draco,_ _listen to me!_ " he shook him before he spoke quickly, something that nearly sounded like panic in his voice. "Are you aware the Dark Lord has a direct connection into Potter's mind that Potter _has never learned to block?"_

Draco froze, paralyzed in fear.

"No…" he whispered.

"Do you understand what would happen if the Dark Lord penetrated Potter's mind and found whatever it is you're blocking _me_ from?"

"No. No, no, n-"

"Yes _,_ Draco. _Yes._ " 

"You - you're lying," he said, hot tears beginning to fall. 

Waving his hand, Snape released Harry, who instantly drew his own wand and pointed it at Snape in fury, breathing heavily.

Snape sneered at him, completely unfazed. "Tell him I'm lying, Potter."

The look Harry gave Draco was more than an answer.

"Harry," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Draco, it's - I could learn -"

"You clearly failed my every attempt to teach you, Potter. You could never possess the amount of skill required to block the likes of the Dark Lord from your mind."

Draco was only too aware how much skill it indeed required. His heart sank into his stomach, making him feel sick.

"You know what needs to happen, Draco." Snape said quietly.

_Why,_ his mind asked. He had finally decided his own path at long last and he wasn't going to turn away from it without a fight. Not when Harry had pleaded with him. Not now when he finally knew exactly what it felt like to hold Harry's hand and press their lips together. He would teach Harry Occlumency himself morning, noon and night if he had to.

"No." Draco said.

Snape stared at him hard.

"Draco, _your_ _pare-_ "

"They're not imbeciles, Severus. They'll run if I tell them why they have to."

"Then the Dark Lord will kill _you!"_

"I don't care." he said defiantly and looked at Harry, who was now looking very touched. Harry held his gaze, and Draco’s heart leapt as he thought maybe - just maybe - he might not be alone in his true feelings.

A few seconds later Snape gasped, and Draco looked back at him again. Snape hadn't needed to break into his mind to finally figure it out.

He expected disgust, or anger, or at the very least confusion from Snape as he looked into those black eyes. He was absolutely floored to find nothing but understanding and sympathy _._

"Draco, I -" he started, and it was the first time either Draco or Harry saw Snape lost for words. He swallowed and nodded to himself. Then he spoke very carefully.

"I made an Unbreakable Vow with your mother to protect you. If you continue this and die, so will I."

Draco blinked at him.

"And if I die… there's a very good chance Harry might not live to defeat The Dark Lord."

"What?" Harry said and Snape ignored him, silently pleading Draco to understand the weight of his words.

When he was still uncertain, Snape bore his eyes into Draco's, and Draco suddenly felt the near-permanent impenetrable fortress around Snape's mind break away.

He watched Snape's memory play in his mind's eye - a little girl with dark red hair was sitting near a lake next to him, laughing. She turned and smiled - her gorgeous, emerald green eyes sparkling. He was thrown out as fast as he had been allowed in, but it was all he needed to see.

Severus understood the very same pain he had been hiding himself since childhood. The weight of reality struck him hard, realization tearing him to pieces.

"Harry," Draco gasped, turning to him, drawing his wand. "Harry, I'm sorry."

"Draco, wai-" Harry began.

"Obliviate."

Draco watched the dreamy look overtake him, choking back a sob as he erased Harry's memory completely from now until he had made what had been the best decision of his life to interrupt him in the shower.

Harry blinked rapidly, noticing his surroundings again. He looked incredibly confused to find himself standing in front of the Headmaster's office with Snape and Draco looking at him.

"What - what did you do to me?" he said, aware that something was very wrong.

Snape brought his own wand up again, muttering under his breath and Harry eyes glazed over again for a moment.

"It is my understanding that the two of you were dueling _yet again_ and past curfew no less," he hissed, his wand now out of sight and Draco realized Snape had given Harry a false memory.

"It's my fault this time, Professor." Draco said quietly and Harry looked flabbergasted.

"I see. I will not take any points from Slytherin, then, for your admirable... honesty." 

"What?! That's bullsh-"

"And seeing as you already have detention with me starting tomorrow morning, Potter," he said, loudly speaking over him. "I no longer feel it necessary to disturb the Headmaster so late... You may return to your common room."

Harry glared at both Snape and Draco before he turned away, marching off towards Gryffindor Tower without ever glancing back.

As soon as Harry was well out of sight, Draco's knees hit the stone floor hard. The pain he felt was nothing compared to the state of his heart.

"Draco…" Snape said softly, crouching down next to him. His heavy black cloak created a crescent moon behind him on the floor and he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I know. _I know._ "

"What am - _how_ -" he spluttered through his tears.

"You must do whatever it takes, Draco. You keep going."

Gulping air, he finally nodded and Snape helped him to his feet again. Draco, still gripping onto his arm, looked up at him and saw the incredible sadness etched into his face. His fingers clutched at the thick black fabric in the crook of Snape's arm.

"Then - then - I still have to -" he trailed off in a whisper.

Snape nodded solemnly and Draco stared at the floor.

"There's… much more to this than you are aware of, Draco."

Draco searched Snape's face for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around him, hiding both his face and tears into his stiff shoulder.

Severus went completely still for a moment, as if someone had replaced his spinal column with a steel rod. Draco silently cried against him and Snape released a breath, finally leaning in, one spindly hand cradling the back of Draco's head and the other splayed in-between his shoulder blades.

"You must be strong," he whispered against Draco's hair, holding his own tears back. _"You must._ I will help you -"

"No," Draco said, sniffing and pulling away. "You have your own burdens to bear, Severus... And I have mine."

Snape stared at him.

"Don't worry. I'm very good at pretending to be someone I'm not." His long, pale fingers gracefully swept away his own tears and he resumed his haughty, arrogant stature. He gave Snape a curt nod and turned on his heels towards the dungeons. 

Severus swallowed. "For how long?" he rasped after him.

Draco stopped, staring ahead at nothing. He then turned his head just barely enough to speak over his right shoulder without looking at the other man.

"Always."

**Author's Note:**

> All of my works are self-beta'd, so if you happen to see some hideous errors, my apologies. I'll be more than happy to fix it if you want to let me know.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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